


the things i received (but never thought i would have)

by yukilee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukilee/pseuds/yukilee
Summary: "Viktor’s thankful; because Yuuri is what he received, what he found, what heuncoveredin repent for all the shit he’s been through.Because Yuuri descended from the heavens to trek through tartarus, searching throughevery cave and every crackfor the pieces of Viktor's heart that he left behind.”(in which we take a ride through viktor's life and learn how yuuri mended his heart, creating something so perfect that even god was jealous.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! i spent quite a while writing this fanfiction, because i tried to write it as beautifully as i could. i'm happy with it, and i hope you will be too. please, please, _please_ leave a comment and a kudo, it's what gets me motivated! even a smiley face emoji would be nice :) enjoy!
> 
> ps. can you guys see the parallels?

Viktor always knew that the world wasn’t fair.

He constantly had this burning hatred, this _fuel of fire_ trapped inside his body.

And this fire, this unforgiving heat, wanted to reach out and explode into flames, scattering ashes across his skin and tattooing scars where it left marks for the universe to see.

He wanted to cry out in pain, to hold on, to carry himself towards some who bear open arms.

But there was nobody.

 _Nothing_.

And he swore to himself that the world wasn’t fair.

 

* * *

 

Viktor Nikiforov was six-years-old, and he felt nothing. It was the first time he truly thought that the world was against him.

Left parentless, he had his thumb in his mouth and was clutching a teddy bear with a broken smile.

Viktor had lost the loves of his life — his mother and father, along with the unconditional love he had been given.

 _All gone_.

All _disappeared_ so easily, like a paper up in flames — and surely those sparks would catch on, creating a wildfire that spread out for miles, completely obliterating anything that came close to it.

And Viktor felt indifferent for weeks. As a six-year-old, he had lost his pillars of support, his cheerleaders, his everything.

And being six, who did you have to lean on?

Someone to wake you up with kisses and laughter; someone to rock you to sleep with the hum of a lullaby and their fingers cradling your face, gently running through your hair.

And Viktor looked curiously at his parents’ door, his blue eyes wide and curious but so _shallow and lacking_.

Lacking of _something_.

His pajamas hung off his small frame, dragging across the floor as he padded through the hallway. His thumb was in his mouth again and the eye of his teddy bear had fallen off.

He wondered if he opened the door again, for the thirtieth time, his mother and father would magically appear and tuck him in good night.

Perhaps his mom could also fix his teddy bear, give him glasses to help his eyesight.

He opened the door, and it was black.

 _Everything was black_.

It was empty.

 _And he felt the same way_.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was twelve-years-old, and he was exhausted. It was the first time he wondered if it’d be better if he didn’t _exist_.

Because it had been too much.

And he was tired and he didn’t want to be there and he wanted to just sleep and never wake up.

All he felt was distraught and despair and he wondered, _why am I feeling this?_

The blades sung against the ice, and Viktor practiced and practiced but he didn’t feel anything at all and _it had been too long since his heart felt something_.

Yakov yelled at him to redo a portion of the sequence, and Viktor wordlessly did it again and again, until Yakov was satisfied.

Yakov doesn’t understand.

And Viktor thought that he was going crazy.

He was twelve, not even a teenager, and he was already so done with the world and its ways.

Too much trouble, too many problems and he just couldn’t deal.

His teddy bear sat on his shelf, staring at him as he sleeps, collecting memories. Perhaps it was keeping an eye on him, using otherworldly natures to keep him safe.

There was no problem with that.

Viktor was safe.

But he was still suffering.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was sixteen and he was on top of world. He held the audience in his palm of his hands, wrapping them around his finger.

He breathed heavily as he skated off the ice, the whistles and applause continuing to echo throughout the arena.

He waited at the Kiss and Cry, a blank slate of mind.

Viktor wondered if he had shown enough emotions to secure another win, and he hoped he did.

Because the only thing that held him down to the world was the urge to compete, to feel like _he was useful_ for something, and not completely worthless.

He wanted to skate for _something_ , for _someone_ , just like everyone else did.

But he _couldn’t_ , because he _didn’t._

And he glanced at his competitors, in the arms of their family.

And Viktor doesn’t care that they're crying because of a loss or in disappointment.

He stared at the family, the couple, the pair of siblings, thinking that _it could have been_ — _should have_ been him.

But it was all snatched away from him, in the blink of an eye.

And he was left with nothing, except for his pride.

This worthless pride.

Worth _nothing._

But it was what kept him going, what had kept him moving throughout the years as he gained intelligence and was slowly losing his mind as he searched for the broken pieces of his heart that was misplaced so long ago.

 _They’re gone,_ he knew. Swept away into the wind and lost forever.

And he wondered if he was ever able to love again.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was twenty, and he was crying and holding himself, leaning back against the tub as his arm dripped with blood.

 _It stings_ , and he dropped his wrist into water and he cried even harder, his choking screams repetitive and his hiccups deepening as the tears fall faster.

The water became a soft, baby pink, pastel and pretty, swirling _down, down, down_ , as Viktor pulled out the plug.

What a wonderful color to pour from horrible wounds.

What a brilliant legacy to escape from a defeated boy.

Gold medals hung from the bedroom wall, seized by a man who didn’t even know why he had them. They dangled uselessly around the room, glinting off the moonlight, causing a haunted glow.

Viktor prayed that someone will notice.

He prayed that somebody will realize that the legendary skater was not okay.

But the world wasn’t fair.

And he hated himself for feeling this way, when obviously he had _everything_ , according to the media.

According to his coach.

According to his teammates.

Because _everything_ meant that he had athleticity, a talent for figure skating, and a pretty face.

Because _everything_ didn’t mean a family, didn’t mean a friend, didn’t mean happiness.

 _Didn’t mean love_.

And Viktor watched the last of the water slip into the drain, flowing through underground pipes, into disgusting sewers, and he wonders if that’s what he was.

Something divine that came from something hurt, slipping under into a place where no one would ever find him.

But he was okay with that.

Because he was broken, and he had accepted that no one will pick up the pieces he left behind.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was twenty-three, and the feeling of being twelve never really left him.

It was like a little devil, poking him in the back of his heart with a burning trident, dipped in lava and scalding his body.

And Viktor knew that whatever he was feeling — _had been feeling_ for the last ten years wasn’t normal. It wasn't just a phase.

He had watched his competitors grow up, just like he did, but had never seen a cut on their wrist or a look of absolute  _utter defeat_ resting on their face like he had.

Maybe they were as good as hiding it as he was.

But he didn't deserve to get help,  _didn't deserve to get better because apparently he was already the king of the world and kings were already perfect the way they were_.

The day Yakov noticed the scars that fell on his arm, he tried to help. He really did. But it wasn't enough.

Viktor didn't want it.

It already felt like the end.

There was no going back to what he once was, to being six again and _hopeful_. Full of wishes.

 

He realized, understood, and accepted the fact that nothing will ever change. It will always be the same.

 

And because of that, Viktor fell deeper into the pit of black.

And he was sure that nobody, nobody could ever help him out.

 

* * *

 

Viktor was twenty-seven and he wanted to end his suffering.

A bottle of pills stood innocently behind his bathroom mirror, and Viktor contemplated locking the door and swallowing it all.

And he asked himself, _would anyone genuinely be sad when he’s gone?_

The fans he’d be letting down, his rink mates who look up to him, and his coach, who put so much effort into all the training he had given him.

But Viktor felt _selfish_ and he wanted to put himself out of his misery because no one would ever love him like how a parent loved their child or how a person would love their lover.

_Unconditionally._

Because the world was unfair and had taken away the loves of his life when he was only six.

Because God was a joker and he wanted to play cards, deciding to have some fun by giving Viktor a cruel hand from an even crueler deck.

Because God wanted to see Viktor sooner, closer, so he didn’t have to wait much longer for his beauty of perfection and marvel at its sight and what he created.

He had created someone so stunning and so brilliant and so wonderfully perfect.

But also someone who needed another person to hold them when they heaved tears as their body shuddered.

Someone who was lost, questioning their existence, _their sanity._

Someone who just _wanted to end it all_.

Viktor glanced at the gold medals that were strewn across the wall, where Yakov told him to hang them, years ago. “Look at everything you’ve gotten,” he said. “This is why you’re alive.”

And Viktor doesn’t understand, because the gold medals don't keep him alive.

They pull him down, like shackles — the weights strangling his neck as he stood on another podium. They’re not light and feathery, they’re not a gift, they’re something he received in repent forall the training he’s been through.

An eye for an eye.

A loss for a gain.

He gave his life away in order for measly, gold medals, a useless necklace that just choked him in his sleep.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is nearing twenty-nine, and the moon is shining through the window as the stars glitter throughout the sky. He’s alone in the room, and there’s this unexplainable ethereal light that just dawns upon him and _he can’t believe that he’s here_.

_Alive._

And the fireplace roars on, safe behind glass and creating sparks of warmth. The ashes safely fall back on the logs, creating even more flames that hide behind the cover.

He still holds the habit of buying pajamas that are too big for him, and he wraps his arms around himself under the clothing as his long sleeves fall to his side. The hem of his pants touch the floor, creating a mop around his feet as he glides around the room.

The clear night sky calms him, and the silence that follows creates a quiet atmosphere that he hasn’t felt for ages.

Makacchin trots up beside him, nuzzling his head into his hand, and Viktor pets him, a soft smile on his face.

They walk together to the bedroom door, and Makacchin strains his head up at his owner as Viktor stands there, a glossy look in his eye as he faces the door.

_Oh, how everything has changed._

Viktor opens the door, and it’s black.

It’s still black, but it’s not empty.

Yuuri Katsuki, the love of his life, his light in the dark, lays beneath the blankets on their bed.

 _Their_ bed.

And it's funny, Viktor thinks, because Yuuri has the darkest, soft brown eyes and jet-black hair while he has sharp, ocean-blue eyes and shining silver.

They contradict each other, and yet it's perfect.

And Viktor is suddenly overcome this rush of emotions and he feels _everything_ there is to feel that is associated with love.

Because he loves Yuuri, and Yuuri loves him.

_Unconditionally._

And he pads to their bed, Makacchin beside him and he slips under the covers and pulls Yuuri in beside him.

Yuuri doesn’t wake up, but he instinctively snuggles closer and he wraps his legs around Viktor's and his arms around his waist.

Viktor’s content, because Yuuri is always there and he will never leave him.

Because Yuuri’s love is, and forever will be, unconditional.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is twenty-nine and he’s exhausted, but a smile still lifts across his face as his fiancé squeezes his hand.

“You’re tired, huh,” Yuuri says, wrapping his arm around Viktor, leaning his head on his shoulders. “We’ll be home soon, don’t worry.”

Viktor nods, pressing a tender kiss on Yuuri’s forehead. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I love watching Yurio skate.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Together, they watch Yurio from the stands as he skates on the ice, every move so graceful and beautiful. The blades glide effortlessly as Yurio dances like the world wasn’t watching.

And Viktor remembers the pain and torture Yurio had put himself through to be where he is today.

And he remembers his own agony when he was Yurio’s age, skating for hours on end.

He wants to tell his younger self that it’ll be okay, to keep on fighting, because there will be a light waiting at the end of the tunnel.

Yuuri gives him a light kiss on his cheek.

Viktor laughs, looking at Yuuri with a smile on his lips. “What was that for?”

“Because I love you,” Yuuri replies. "You're adorable," he adds, and Viktor loves Yuuri more than ever.

Because Yuuri understands him, helps him, trusts him, and even more so _loves him_.

He’s too kind and sweet and Viktor doesn’t know how he landed such a perfect person. But he doesn’t want to jeopardize anything, so he doesn’t ask.

All Viktor knows is that Yuuri will always have his back, watching over him, and using otherworldly natures to keep him safe.

Viktor is safe, _and he’s loved_.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is thirty-years-old and _he really is on top the world_.

Nothing can tear him away from this moment; nothing can make him happier.

Everything is perfect.

Because Yuuri Katsuki is walking down the aisle, towards him.

In a crisp black suit, Viktor cannot stop the tears from flowing down his face, and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. He struggles to stop himself from using his sleeve as a tissue, and Yuuri is trying to hide a knowing smile.

Yuuri looks…

And Viktor’s loss for words.

The emotion he’s feeling is indescribable, because any sane person would ask himself if they were really deserving of Yuuri Katsuki.

Viktor had asked himself that many, many times, and he had also shared his concerns with Yuuri.

They were lying down on the couch, cuddling each other, and Yuuri just laughed. He placed a loving kiss on Viktor’s jawline and said, _“I don’t know if you deserve me, Viktor. That’s for you to figure out. All I know is that I love you, and I’ll love you forever. I don’t have my heart, and you don’t have yours — but we have each other’s.”_

Yuuri smiled, and tucked a strand of hair behind Viktor's hair. " _We just have to make sure we don't break it._ "

And it was at that moment Viktor knew that they really were forever.

Yuuri stands in front of him wearing a dazzling white suit, a few unshed tears in his eyes as he clasps Viktor’s hands. Their gold rings glimmer in the sunlight, and the faint clicks of Phichit’s camera against the roaring tides of the ocean leaves a memory never forgotten.

The ceremony goes by ever so slowly because all Viktor wants to do is kiss Yuuri’s lips.

And Yuuri looks so sweet, so bashful, and his cheeks are the perfect shade of red when the priest says, “You may kiss,” and Viktor can’t stop himself from embracing Yuuri in the tightest hug before giving him a passionate kiss.

Christophe whistles in the background.

And Yuuri’s knees just turn into jello and buckle.

Viktor is so full of love and life because he realizes Yuuri is finally _his and his only_ and nothing can take him away from him.

Because Yuuri holds the broken pieces of Viktor’s heart after searching the world for them, slowly picking up the jagged edges as they cut through his finger and bled.

Because Yuuri contradicted all the odds and found his way into Viktor’s life and made a complete change that Viktor is so thankful for.

Because he loves him, til death do them part and beyond that.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you store these in the closet, Viktor?” Yuuri asks, a handful of gold medals in his palm. “These are really important. Are you sure you want them to collect dust like this?”

Viktor’s lying on his bed, watching Yuuri as he went through their closet.

“Thanks for the concern, but it’s okay. I don’t really want to see them everyday.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, and he takes a worried glance at Viktor. “Do you want to talk about it? You look like you really want to tell me something.”

“I mean,” Viktor thinks for a second. “It’s a really long story. Come here.”

And so Yuuri pads over to the bed and sits beside his husband, snuggling into his side. Viktor wraps the blanket around them despite it being summer, and he begins his tale.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is thirty-one, and he feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders. He feels like a flower petal, soft and free and not being crushed by something he was so ashamed of.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri says, brushing his silver hair behind his ears and giving him a feathery kiss. “I love you no matter what. I hope you do know that.”

“I do, I do, I do,” Viktor murmurs, and he takes his left hand and places it on Yuuri’s left cheek, bringing their faces closer so they touch, side to side.

He turns his head and nuzzles his nose into Yuuri's cheek.

“What are you doing?” Yuuri laughs, but he resets their position to what it was before. _It’s nice,_ he thinks, and he rests his hand on Viktor’s leg.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” Viktor whispers, so quiet and so still. “I can’t believe it — _I still can’t_ , even after all these years.”

Yuuri doesn’t say anything, but he moves closer so he sits in Viktor’s lap, facing him. He straddles him, but in no desire for it to be sexual. All he wants is to be intimate. Viktor drops his head into the crook of Yuuri’s neck and he wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him even closer.

“But why do you love me? _I’m so broken_ ,” Viktor continues, his voice above an echo. It cracks at the last word, and Yuuri just melts.

“I love you because of _who you were, who you are, and who you will be_ in the future.” He leans back, and Viktor slowly raises his head. Yuuri cradles his face with both hands, his fingers rubbing circles on his cheeks.

“I know you're broken, Viktor,” Yuuri says softly. “But you don’t need to be fixed. You’re perfect the way you are.”

And all of a sudden sobs ricochets out of Viktor’s body, because it is now that Viktor realizes that he doesn’t need to change. He doesn’t need to be fearful of losing people who will leave him after being wounded by the sharp edges of his broken body.

He doesn’t need them, because if they can’t handle him at his worst, they don’t deserve him at his best.

Viktor realizes that he didn’t need everything to live on happily.

 _All he needs is Yuuri_. And Yuuri really is his everything — his whole world, his reason to live.

He reminds himself of the tub water, pooling pink with blood. And he sees the contrast of himself, slipping down into the drain, through the pipes and into the sewer water and forgotten.

But he isn’t forgotten.

Because he found his way out into the ocean where his kingdom awaits its lost king.

 

* * *

 

“Viktor,” Yurio says, licking his his ice cream cone. “Why do you always wear that armband when we’re swimming?”

Viktor looks at him, his eyes unfocused and shifting. A sad smile lingers on his mouth, and he reaches for his left arm like he was ready to slip the band off.

Yurio is absolutely horrified. “Don’t take it off, I don’t care _that much_. It’s just fucking weird you know?”

“I guess it is,” Viktor hums, and he leaves his rinkmate by the ice cream stand.

“But what’s under it?” Yuri Plisetsky murmurs to himself, and he’s filled with dread and unneeded thoughts.

 _It couldn’t be —_ but he doesn’t want to finish that sentence.

And he realizes that he doesn’t need to find the words because he sees the silver-haired-champion with his beloved husband in each other’s arms, standing knee-deep in the water and laughing.

They both look so joyful and surreal that Yurio will never believe anything else but them being happy.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is thirty-two and he decides to tell his legacy a story.

Yuri Plisetsky sits on the bed between a silver-haired-man and a black-haired-man, for once being respectable and not causing interruptions. They have their arm wrapped around him, and Yuri admits that he likes the comfort and the feeling.

The older Russian turns off the TV, and he rests his chin on Yurio’s head.

“Listen carefully,” Yuuri says, smiling softly. “This is a tale of woe, sorrow, and sadness.”

“Stop being dramatic, you're starting to sound like Viktor,” Yuri complains. “I don’t have all day you know.” But truthfully, he would sit in this bed all night if it meant for Viktor and Yuuri to be happy.

Yuuri laughs, and ruffles his hair. “Sorry,  _Yurochka_ ,” and Yuri feels a sudden tug in his heart from the nickname. Sometimes he forgets that these men are just a decade older than him, but it feels like they have a lifetime’s experience in their fingertips.

Sometimes he wonders if he ever deserved them at all.

Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s hero with so much kindness and wisdom stored in his body.

Viktor Nikiforov, the world’s pride with so much optimism and happiness in his heart.

Completely opposite of Yuri Plisetsky.

And they are sitting beside him, having fun and treating him like a _friend_ whom they love.

So Yuri listens intently to Viktor’s story, and he cries at the right moments, laughs at the right moments, and knows why everything's the way it is.

 

* * *

 

 

Because the world has a plan for every single person, and a treasure at the end of the finish line, no matter how fast or slow you run, or how many breaks you need.

Someday you will tell _your legacy_ , _your heir_ , your story and they will know that you are a hero for reaching this far and overcoming everything that was thrown your way. You paved your way for love and happiness and you received it. Be proud.

So take your time, enjoy your moments, because _you will reach the finish line_ one day everything will disappear in a heartbeat.

All your mistakes, your sorrows, and your regrets.

 

* * *

 

Viktor is thirty-three and he can’t believe he’s come this far. From _feeling nothing and wanting everything_ to _feeling everything and wanting nothing._

Because he really does have the whole world in his hands.

“Why are you holding my hand so tight?” Yuuri laughs, and his breath creates a puff of white air. The snowflakes drift, falling gracefully as the Christmas lights dance around the city.

“Oh, _nothing_.”

And everything comes flashing back, like a punch in the gut.

Viktor breathes in sharply and he has to remind himself that _he is who is today because of what happened before_. He reminds himself that the pills could have taken him down another route, another place into another world without Yuuri.

Viktor’s thankful.

Because Yuuri is what he received, what he found, what he uncovered in repent for all the shit he’s been through.

A diamond in the rust.

An eye for an eye.

A loss for a gain.

He had given his life away in order for measly, gold medals, a useless necklace that just choked him in his sleep.

But an angel descended from the heavens to trek through tartarus, searching through every cave and every crack for the pieces of his heart that Viktor left behind.

He didn't fix those pieces himself, _oh no_. He just loved them with every fibre of his being, no matter how big or small each piece was. He let them mend themselves because he believed they were strong enough.

Yuuri found Viktor, bloodied and bruised, and safely carried him back where he belonged; in his arms and forever loved, watched over, and taken care of.

 _Because everything does get better_.

And you will too.

**Author's Note:**

> i really hope you adored it as much as i adored writing it. have a great week!


End file.
